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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455892">Sextape</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_King_Alone/pseuds/A_King_Alone'>A_King_Alone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead by Daylight (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Other, Short One Shot, TW: rape and depictions of violent behavior</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:20:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455892</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_King_Alone/pseuds/A_King_Alone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny's always been a real sicko.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sextape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He waited.</p><p>He waited, succumbed voluntarily to infinity.</p><p>When could he kill again? He could still taste it.</p><p>He recalled being a journalist a long time ago in a life far away from his present, recalled his fun memories of tormenting people in the place that he used to live. Why? <em>Be~cause</em>, he wanted to. Nothing else made him feel, other than relentlessly stalking and harassing others, making them breach past the human capacity of absolute pain, physically, psychologically. He was a self-appointed destroyer of the psyche.</p><p>It got to a point where that wasn't enough when all he did was 'harmless' stalking, it wasn't enough just to see their scared expressions when he took it further inch by inch, he wanted so much more, he ached to keep pushing his limits.</p><p>Danny Johnson, your typical pretty boy reporter, the guy that had all kinds of men and women trailing after him, waiting for any opportunity to get just a little bit of his attention. Swept dark hair in that 90's iconic fashion everyone lusted after, beautifully dark brown eyes, so dark they may as well be pitch black, an incredibly charming smile on the ideal handsome visage. </p><p>Oh, he happily obliged, eventually. Just not in the way that they had wanted. Well, maybe, depending on how sick in the head his victim may possibly be. Some liked it so much that they screamed. How he <strong>loved</strong> the screaming.</p><p>Those were his fondest memories to think back on, as he currently had a lot of endless time to spend alone until he was summoned for a blissful hunt. But he was used to the waiting game, in fact, he loved every second of it. Watching, waiting, gathering all the information necessary to piece together an elaborate plot of destruction and demise. </p><p>It was so worth it, in the end, every time.</p><p>Words couldn't express how much he loved the torment once his victim walked right into his arms, the raspy, low, mechanical sounding taunts over a phone receiver that made them tremble in terror as he watched outside of their window unbeknownst to them. They never saw it coming.</p><p>"Who are you?" they'd always eventually ask during their little private call, because they never just let it ring.</p><p>"Jed," Danny would blatantly lie, suggesting that if they wanted more information, then to simply ask. He would delightfully answer everything they wanted to know. </p><p>"Really? What about your last name then, Jed?"</p><p>His tongue ran over his lips in his anticipation, already securing the entry to their perfect white picket fence home, where they thought they were the safest from the dark impending horror.</p><p>"Olsen."</p><p>"Jed Olsen?"</p><p>They'd laugh, saying that it's obviously a fake name. Of course, it had to be, in a small town, everybody knew everybody. Oh, that was certainly true, but they never considered that it may be one of their own playing fun games with their peers.</p><p>A ghoulish mask hid his visage, dressed in worn leather, no traces of himself left behind in a trial to follow, at least, nothing he didn't want to leave on purpose. No, never, they couldn't catch him. He was too good at it. </p><p>He went as far as leaving clues with the trusted power he possessed in journalism, boldly handing in evidence and love letters of his obscene crimes to the local authorities, under his own coined moniker always signed at the very bottom in his own handwriting using his non-dominant hand, "775-35". Seven seven five dash three five.</p><p>(7)<strong>S.</strong> (7)<strong>R.</strong> (5)<strong>K.</strong> - (3)<strong>D.</strong> (5)<strong>J.</strong></p><p><strong>S</strong>talk. <strong>R</strong>ape. <strong>K</strong>ill. - <strong>Danny Johnson.</strong></p><p>He made it so <em>fucking <span class="u">obvious!</span></em> Those lazy fuckers never caught on, never even pieced together how it was the guy who was reporting the incidents himself right under their noses. A morbidly villainous Peter Parker. Utterly amusing but also completely boring. It was never a challenge.</p><p>Nothing was better than the peak right before the crescendo of the kill, the wonderful fear contorting their faces, begging, "Please! No!" But they weren't even aware that death would be their ultimate release from his torture, no, not until he revealed his hard-on from their face crunched in pain after they're tied up and immobile, penetrating them dry and laughing at the the high of their shrill cries. His 'Heaven' was everyone else's 'Hell'.</p><p>A sadist rapist, a serial killer, a deranged psychopath peacefully walking among everyone else, giving his grievances toward the families and friends for their losses, a shoulder to even cry on. Yet, they could never figure out that it was their own Danny Johnson all along. In an era before modern equivalence, nowhere town authorities hadn't the means to even track him through his biological trail that he most definitely left behind deep inside of his victims.</p><p>He never had to pay for his crimes, while he gleefully inflicted immense suffering.</p><p>Not even after he was engulfed by a sickly black fog that shifted his existence away from the one he was absolutely enjoying every waking moment of, only to be pulled into a world that was far greater than anything he could ever imagine. Cycle upon cycle of death, without any consequence.</p><p>What an exemplary world for Danny.</p><p>He was more than thrilled to work for his new overlord which granted him the gateway to his own personal Moksha, Nirvana, a rebirth into the most perfect Paradise. </p><p>His personal favorite memories were leaving the unlabeled VHS tapes in easy places to discover from the very camcorder they had lent his crew for their stories. Blurred and out of focus, covered by blood and leather, having his way violently with the gagged and bound victims before their cruel end at the merciless wounds of a knife.</p><p>There were a few occasions where he was present to speculate the videos being investigated, using every ounce of his willpower to not crack a smile at their outward repulsion, comments about how unbelievable it was that someone could commit these atrocities.</p><p>"<em>You can't stop me~</em>" he'd hear himself say through the filtered voice at the end as he faced the device toward his bloodied mask, then pointing it down at a naked struggling victim choking on their own fluids on the old fat back TV screen until their eyes glossed over with death claiming what was left of their soul. </p><p>"Pathetic, disgusting person... Just horrible. We'll catch this sick freak," he'd say about himself when the tape reached its end with his sinister inward grin. They always agreed.</p><p>It was so, so arousing, being the center of all attention throughout the entire town he had grown up in during his short reign of tyranny, knowing all of these faces, knowing all of their stories, their routines. All the while pretending to be the most concerned citizen of all, hellbent on catching the inhuman monster terrorizing them.</p><p>He'd cackle like a maniac behind his closed doors, thrash about in his private domain with complete euphoria until he tired himself out. </p><p>He wanted so badly to be caught. He wanted someone, anyone, to finally catch onto his sick criminal schemes, but they never did and never got the chance before he disappeared. He often wondered if they connected the dots after he had mysteriously vanished quite literally out of thin air in the Summer of 93'. Oh, he would give <em>anything</em> just to know.</p><p>And now, in this timeless realm, he had all the time in the universe to ponder upon it, but it always made him smile. He hoped they did make the connection, he hoped he would go down in history as one of the most notorious, evil and prolific killers of all time.</p><p>His numbers may not have been vast, but the calculations, the inescapable cornering, all of the hard work he poured into his passion. It had to have been noticed. That's all he would ever dream about, in his listless slumber.</p><p>But that wasn't why he did it. That was just the tasty cherry on top. Why did Danny commit his existence to hurting others? <strong>Be~cause</strong>, <em>he wanted to</em>. There wasn't any special reason, he just liked doing it. He was good at it. It was his sole purpose in birth to cause pain for other human beings.</p><p>He liked it that way.</p><p>Danny's parents were quite typical and normal people, a sweet, doting mother, a strict but caring father, married happily together, giving their all to their only son, their only child. He was given everything. He was disciplined fairly, he was taught empathy through their excellent guidance. He just didn't feel it. He didn't care at all about the feelings or suffering for others. </p><p>Maybe they taught him too well. He learned how to seamlessly blend in with everyone else. He was the perfect child, a model citizen. Everyone knew Danny Johnson as easy-going, always honest, hard working. A pleasant person to be around, a soft-spoken fellow. He never displayed any notion that anything could be psychologically wrong. But who they knew and who he was were two completely different people.</p><p>Danny Johnson was everybody's good boy. Jed Olsen was a cold, unfeeling serial murderer.</p><p>One in a hundred children were born as psychopaths, he recalled reading in the local library once as a teenager, suddenly very interested in psychopathy, finding that he could relate to it more than anything else he had ever come across.</p><p>"Ah, so I'm a psychopath," he said aloud to himself, alone in his bedroom, filled with what he thought he could call peace upon the realization. "There's nothing wrong with me after all."</p><p>It was at that point that he accepted himself fully, the most natural of self down to his very core that he had been born into. He felt no guilt, no remorse. He was only being himself, just like everybody else.</p><p>He knew his actions and desires were considered morally wrong because of his upbringing and he was taught staunchly the difference between what was right and what was wrong, but that knowledge was met with his apathy. He was well aware that what he desired the most had the consequence of severe punishment.</p><p>That only made it all the more reason to do it.</p><p>You couldn't punish a criminal if they couldn't be caught.</p><p>So he spent his time refining and making his technique absolutely perfect. It was easy, he had already been doing it from his youth in his secrecy.</p><p>He'd follow and rape women who showed even the slightest interest in him, taunting them cruelly when they'd always fail to fight back when he overpowered them, choking them into unconsciousness with their own entrails, jamming his cock in their open wounds while they were still alive. It was his favorite if they stirred from their blackout to witness him and he'd just bellow in their face as he's buried deep, "<strong>SCREAM<em> FOR ME!</em></strong>" And they always did.</p><p>He'd use plastic bags from local grocery stores specific to the town to capture and suffocate men that he found attractive just for that reason, tearing them to shreds once they were tied, pulling their insides out of their ass with his wild laughter because Danny never bothered to purchase lubricant. Showing mercy was beneath him. </p><p>Gender didn't matter. He wanted to show his domination. The sexual gratification wasn't even something he particularly cared about, it was merely displaying that he alone held power. He was in control and they had none.</p><p>And the beautiful finale, stabbing them several times as deeply as he could with cold steel. And he recorded it all, for his own personal collection, because he liked playing it back, watching the process over and over and over again.</p><p>He was obsessed with the thrill, the chase, the euphoric high and the sweet, sweet ending, the only acts that truly made him feel anything other than the emptiness of nothingness. He felt so engulfed and suffocated by the void at all times, until that pivotal point in which he uncovered his true nature. He fully gave in, willingly submitted to it. All he had to do was let go. It was that easy. Just let go.</p><p>And it unleashed unspeakable horror on the unfortunate small town Roseville in grossly humid and boring Florida, where nothing ever happened. Not until he cast his spell of evil upon it, merrily dumping a canister of gasoline on the dulled flames.</p><p>He hoped they would never forget. Either they held memorial for their precious boy Danny Johnson's strange disappearance and perceived death, or they reeled with the disgust and terror of discovering Jed Olsen's true identity. And he always, always hoped it was the latter.</p><p>But they would never know that their little Danny got to continue his reign of despotism in the world of the Entity, his sublime God that gifted him the sandbox of his most wicked desires.</p><p>He never aged, his perfect visage never wrinkled, his ways never changed and all who saw his shadowed figure when he was spawned into their unlucky trial drowned in their fear and dread at the sight of him. While others changed, Danny stayed the same.</p><p>He waited.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Jan. 31 20XX -- Alright. I'm currently writing a multiple-chapter (nine-ish chapters planned so far) story based on this random one-shot I did for fun. And I'll be doing that over the next few months as a long-term project because, well, I feel like it. I'll post it someday soon.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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